Читать книгу Reunited - Kate Hoffmann - Страница 10

“WHY CAN’T you understand? All my life, I’ve believed I was an only child. Do you know how that feels?” Keely snatched up a pastry bag and began to scoop icing into it. “There’s no one else in this world that I can call family except you. And what happens when you’re gone? Who will I have?”

“A nice thing, that,” Fiona murmured, a haughty arch to her brow. “Putting me in my bloody grave so soon, are you?”

Keely sighed, then tossed the spatula back into the bowl and began to pipe the Italian meringue icing over the first layer of the wedding cake. “Why shouldn’t I be angry with you? I have a father and six brothers. And you kept me from them.”

“How many times have we gone over this? It’s been a week since you got back from Ireland. When are you going to forgive me?”

“When you bloody well give me a good reason to,” Keely shot back. “I want to know everything. Why you left him, how you could walk away from your children, why you never told me. Until you’re honest about everything, then I’m going to keep bringing up the subject.”

Fiona sighed softly. “I wanted to keep you from being hurt. There are reasons I left your father. Good reasons.”

“I can understand that. Marriage is difficult. But how could you leave your sons? They were your children.”

As she had so many times over the past week, Fiona refused to explain further. At first, Keely had been furious with her, lashing back with anger and accusations. Then after a few days, her anger had abated and was replaced by cool intolerance. But now she was frustrated by her mother’s silence, curious to know more but stymied at every turn. Keely knew from the look in her mother’s eyes that the memories still brought back overwhelming pain. But she didn’t care! She picked up the bowl of buttercream and heaved it across the room. It bounced off the wall, then spattered all over the floor.

“Well,” her mother muttered, “that’s a fine way to behave.”

“If you won’t talk to me about this, then I have no choice. I’ll have to go to Boston and find out for myself.”

Her mother drew in a sharp breath. “You’ll only get hurt.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Fiona said.

“That’s not a reason!”

“They don’t even know you exist.”

Her words were barely a whisper, but they were like a dagger to Keely’s heart. She blinked as emotion welled up inside of her. “They—they don’t know about me?”

“I left Boston right after I learned I was pregnant with you. Your father didn’t know. I came here to get away, just for a little while, to decide what I wanted to do with my life. And I just never went back. When I had you, I put my maiden name on your birth certificate and started using that name. Anya was the only person who ever knew the truth. So if you’re determined to find them, you have to understand. They won’t know you. And they might not believe you.”

“I have a right to know them!” Keely cried, brushing a tear of frustration from her cheek.

“And what can I say to stop you?” Fiona asked. “If I tell you everything, you’ll still go.”

Keely shrugged. “So why not tell me?”

Fiona closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “It was a long, long time ago. Another life.”

“And you’ve made no move to contact them in all these years?”

“I was protecting you,” Fiona explained. “I thought my marriage was over. I knew that Seamus would never change. And when I walked out, I never intended to stay away for so long. I decided I’d go back after you were born. But by then, it was even more difficult to leave New York. I had a good job. I’d built a life for us.”

“But your sons,” Keely said. “How could you—”

Tears flooded Fiona’s eyes. “Do you think it was easy leaving them? I thought it would force Seamus to grow up if he had to be responsible for the boys for a while, if he had to pay the bills and take care of the house. I kept in touch with a neighbor for a time, just to make sure the boys were all right.” She paused. “I didn’t want to leave. But I was trapped. I would have taken them with me, but didn’t have a way to provide for the boys, and Seamus did. I’d never worked in my life before I took the job in the bakery.”

“I used to make up all sorts of stories about my father,” Keely said. “He was so heroic and brave and he died in a very tragic way. You see, I had to make up stories since you never told me anything.”

“Would you have been happy with the truth? Your father was a dirt-poor Irish fisherman who spent most of his time on a swordfishing boat out in the North Atlantic. When he was home, he was usually drunk. He gambled away most of what he earned. And when he went back out to sea, I was glad for it.”

Keely laughed softly. “And I imagined the reason that you never married again was that you never stopped loving him.”

“I’m a Catholic and divorce wasn’t an option.”

Keely gasped. “You’re still married?”

“I am,” Fiona said. “I’m not sure about your father. He could have another wife. I suppose that would make him a bigamist.”

Keely stared down at the piping on the cake, noticing that her work had become uneven and sloppy. With a soft curse, she picked up her spatula and smoothed the decoration out, preparing to start all over again. “I have to go,” she murmured. “I have to know who they are.”

“Even if it means you’ll get your heart broken? Please, Keely, don’t turn this into some romantic fantasy,” Fiona warned. “It’s more likely to be a disaster.”

“And maybe it won’t be. Maybe they’ll be happy to meet me.”

A long silence grew between them. “When will you go?” Fiona finally asked.

“I’ve asked Janelle and Kim to take care of the jobs for this weekend. You’ll have to do the Wilkinson cake and the Marbury cake. They’re both decorated with marzipan and I’ve made all of that ahead of time. You’ll just need to frost the tiers and do a little simple piping. I should only be gone about a day or two.”

“Then, you’ll need this,” Fiona said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a chain with a jewel-encrusted pendant. She held it out to Keely. “Take it,” she said.

Keely twisted the chain around her fingers and examined the necklace. “What is this?”

“It was given to me on my wedding day by my mother. It’s a McClain family heirloom. A claddagh. The Irish symbol of love. The heart is for fidelity, the hands for friendship and the crown for loyalty. I was saving it to give to you on your wedding day.” She paused. “Seamus knows this pendant. If you show it to him, he’ll know where it came from.” Fiona laughed softly. “In truth, this necklace was the reason I left your father.”

“It was?”

Fiona nodded. “He’d just come home after two months away. He was drunk and he’d just gambled away most of his pay down at the pub. He took the necklace to a pawn shop and sold it for gambling money. He said he needed to win back what he’d lost. Before I left Boston, I convinced the pawnbroker to let me buy it back over time. It took me three years.” She stared at the pendant, dangling from Keely’s fingers. “That’s the kind of man your father was…the truth be told.”

“Maybe he’s changed,” Keely said softly. “People can change, you know.”

“And maybe he hasn’t,” Fiona countered.

Keely slipped the necklace into her apron pocket. “I guess I won’t know for sure until I meet him myself.”

She turned back to her cake and studied it critically. Suddenly she didn’t have the patience for piping the delicate basket weave. Now that she’d decided to go to Boston and find her family, she wanted to pack her bags and leave right away. A tiny wave of nausea gave her pause, but she fought it back. She was brave enough to face whatever might happen in Boston.

And once she did, she’d be able to figure out who she really was—a McClain or a Quinn.

A CHILLY WIND stung Keely’s face as she walked down the rain-slicked sidewalk, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets, her gaze fixed a few feet ahead of her. She was almost afraid to look up, afraid to face what she had come to see.

The weather was cold for early October and a nasty storm was bearing down on the East Coast, the prospect of rain heavy in the air. But that hadn’t stopped her from driving to Boston. Since she’d returned from Ireland just over a week ago, Keely had dreamed about this day, going over it in her head, then with maps spread out on her bed. She had plotted how long it would take to drive from New York to Boston and back again.

She’d wanted to go the day after she’d returned from Ireland, the moment her mother told her that Seamus Quinn was in Boston. She’d found his address on the Internet and was ready to pick up the phone and call him. But she’d stopped herself, unwilling to act impulsively this time. For once in her life, Keely was determined to think before she acted and not rush headlong into something she knew might be dangerous.

Up until this moment, that had been the story of her life—impetuous decisions, impulsive actions, always leading to a severe reckoning. Like the time a friend had dared her to steal money from the offering basket at church. She’d tossed in a quarter and palmed a five-dollar bill, only to be caught by the old lady sitting next to her. Keely had been forced to clean the church bathrooms for six months to pay for that little lapse.

Then there was the time she’d run away with the drummer from a sleazy garage band. She’d been sixteen and had made it as far as New Jersey before the guy dumped her. Fiona hadn’t let her out of the house for almost six months for that unwholesome adventure. And just last year, she’d been hauled into jail for punching a policeman who’d been trying to roust a homeless man who lived in the alley behind her apartment. That had gotten her a substantial fine and a genuine police record.

But her trip to Boston, though risky, wasn’t really reckless. She had no other choice but to come. Only now that she was here, her only thought was how easy it would be to turn around and go home, to take the safe way out and resume her old life. But curiosity drove her forward, in spite of her pounding heart and her quickened breathing. Maybe her mother had been right. The past was the past, Fiona had said. Leave it alone.

The past that Keely had believed was her past had been nothing but a lie, a fabrication devised to quell a curious child’s questions. The father she thought had died in a commercial fishing accident was really alive. And the siblings she’d always longed for were living in a city just a few hundred miles from her home in New York, living lives that she could only imagine. Keely drew a shaky breath, then turned and looked across the street.

It was there, right where it was supposed to be, neon beer signs blazing in the plate-glass windows. Quinn’s Pub. She’d gone to her father’s house, screwed up her courage and knocked on the front door, only to have a neighbor tell her that Seamus Quinn was at the pub he owned, just a few blocks away.

“Seamus,” she murmured as she stared at the pub. “Seamus, Conor, Dylan, Brendan, Brian, Sean, Liam.”

Until a month ago, the names were those of strangers. But in just a few moments of shocking revelation in Maeve’s cottage in Ireland, they’d become her family. Now, she repeated the names over and over again, hoping the mere sound of the syllables would conjure up images of the men who belonged to them.

“All right,” she murmured. “What’s the plan?”

Maybe it would be best just to get a feel for the situation first. She’d go inside and order a beer, maybe get a look at her father. She crossed the street, but as she approached the bar, a man pushed open the front door and stepped outside, then another right behind him. An Irish tune drifted into the night from the interior of the pub, then disappeared on the wind. The lights flooding the front facade provided enough illumination for Keely to see both men, but her gaze was caught by the taller of the two.

It had to be him, though she wasn’t sure which him it was. His features were so unique, the dark hair, the strong jaw and the wide mouth, the very same features she looked at in the mirror every morning—only hers were softened to a feminine form—the same features she’d seen in the old photograph, now altered by age.

Keely had no choice but to continue walking. To turn and run would only draw attention to herself. As she passed the pair, she glanced up and her gaze locked with his. The recognition she felt was reflected in his own expression and, for a moment, Keely was sure he was going to stop and speak to her. A jolt of panic raced through her and she opened her mouth. But a casual greeting was too much. Instead, she just kept walking…walking until she felt a pang of regret at the missed opportunity.

“Keep walking,” Keely murmured to herself. “Don’t look back.”

When she reached the front door of the pub, she started up the steps, but her courage had already been severely shaken. If this was how she reacted to a stranger on the street—a stranger who might not even be one of her brothers—then how would she react when she spoke to her father for the first time in her life?

Another wave of panic overwhelmed and she spun on her heel and hurried back down the steps. She kept going until she reached the shadow of a panel truck parked along the curb. Then Keely turned and watched the two men as they got into an old car parked halfway down the block. Had he recognized her the same way she’d recognized him? Had he seen the same family resemblance that she’d noticed?

The car pulled away from the curb and the two men drove past her. At the last second she stepped into the light. “Wait!” Keely called, raising her hand to wave at them.

But her voice caught in her throat and the words were barely more than a sigh. “Wait,” she murmured as the taillights of the car disappeared into the rain and darkness. Keely stood on the sidewalk for a long time, letting the raindrops spatter on her face and the cold seep through her jacket.

A shiver skittered down her spine and Keely blinked, forced to admit that she had failed. With a softly muttered curse, she started back in the direction from which she had come. When she reached the safety of her car, Keely closed her eyes and tipped her head back, trying to ignore her disappointment.

“It was just a first step,” she murmured as her heart began to slow to its normal rhythm. “The second step will be much easier.”

She flipped on the overhead light and grabbed her purse from the floor, then pulled out the precious photograph. An Irish family—her family—standing on a rocky cliff overlooking the Atlantic. The five boys were so young. Conor, the oldest, was just seven or eight. Liam hadn’t even been born yet. They all looked so happy, so hopeful, ready to set out on the their grand adventure to America. Life was supposed to hold such promise, yet it had all gone so horribly bad.

As Keely rubbed her thumb over the photo, she tried to imagine her mother in those days before she walked away from her family. The notion of leaving her sons behind was impossible to imagine. And even worse was the realization that Keely had been to blame. That perhaps if her mother hadn’t been pregnant again, she might have stayed and tried to work things out.

Slouching down in her seat, Keely turned her gaze toward the door of the pub, watching as patrons walked in and out, hoping that she’d see another man who resembled a boy in the picture. “Conor, Dylan, Brendan,” she murmured. “Brian, Sean, Liam.”

Who were they? What kind of men had they grown up to be? Were they kind and understanding, compassionate and open-minded? How would they react to her sudden appearance in their life? She had grown up not knowing they existed. Would they accept her into the family or would they turn her away?

“Conor, Dylan, Brendan. Sean, Brian, Liam.” She paused. “And Keely.”

A tiny smiled curled the corners of her mouth. “Keely Quinn,” she said. It sounded right. Though she’d spent her life calling herself Keely McClain, Keely Quinn was her real name and it was time to start thinking of herself as someone with a real family—a father, a mother and six brothers.

She quickly formulated a timetable for herself, a habit that was a necessity in her career and now came in handy in her personal life. In a few weeks, she’d come back to Quinn’s Pub, walk inside and buy a drink. And a few weeks after that, maybe she’d speak to her father or one of her brothers. Now was the time for restraint, not recklessnesss.

By Christmas, Keely was determined that her family would know she existed. They didn’t have to accept her at first. In truth, she didn’t expect a tearful reunion and declarations of love. She expected shock and confusion and maybe a bit of resentment. But sooner or later, she would have the family that she always wanted.

With a soft sigh, Keely took a final look at the front door of Quinn’s Pub. This had been enough for one day. She’d found her father’s pub and maybe even seen one of her brothers. She’d go back to her hotel and get a good night’s sleep and come back to Boston another time. But the excitement of her discovery was too much to keep to herself. She’d made a promise to her mother to call as soon as she found her father and brothers. Keely reached into her purse and grabbed her cell phone, then punched in the phone number of her mother’s apartment.

Fiona would have left the shop around six. By seven, she was usually preparing her dinner and, by eight, she had settled comfortably in her favorite chair with an Agatha Christie mystery. Keely’s mind raced as she tried to decide what she’d say. Should she sound excited or should she keep her tone indifferent? Her mother picked up the phone on the other end.

“Mama?” Keely said, her voice trembling. “Mama, I found them.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Then you talked to Seamus?” Fiona asked.

“No, not yet. But I will. Soon.”

“Come home, Keely.”

“You know I can’t. I have to go now, Ma. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She snapped her phone closed and tossed it on the seat beside her. Then Keely reached for the ignition. But at the last minute, she changed her mind. She’d come all this way. Why not go inside now? She could walk through the door and ask to use the ladies’ room. Or maybe pretend to make a phone call. What did she have to lose? And if everything went all right, she’d just introduce herself.

The impulse was too strong to resist. “I can do this,” she said as she grabbed the keys and stepped out of the car. “I’ve come this far.”

She hurried back across the street, then smoothed her hair before starting up the front steps. But, suddenly, her doubts got the better of her. The second step was almost painful. When she reached the third step, she could see through the wide plate-glass window into the interior of the bar. Her gaze scanned the crowd and then came to rest on a white-haired man behind the bar.

The door opened and a couple stumbled outside, allowing voices to drift out into the night. She stepped aside, her gaze still fixed on the older man. Then Keely heard a patron shout the name of Seamus and the white-haired man raised his hand and waved to an unseen patron on the other side of the bar.

The reality of the situation hit her. Seamus was a flesh-and-blood man, not just a fantasy. Her stomach lurched and she grabbed the railing and hurried back down the steps. She only made it halfway down the block before her nausea overwhelmed her. “Oh, bloody hell,” she murmured as she bent over against a nearby car and tried to breath deeply.

If she ever expected to meet her father and brothers, she’d have to get control of her nerves! She wasn’t a child anymore, plagued with doubts and confusion. And she wasn’t a teeanager, riddled with guilt. This wasn’t like letting the air out of Father Julian’s bicycle tires or dropping a rotten tomato off the roof of the school at Sister Bertina or smoking cigarettes in the janitor’s closet. She deserved to be able to meet her family and know them without all this upset.

Keely turned away from the car, but her head began to swim. She closed her eyes. “Breathe,” she murmured to herself. “Breathe.”

RAFE SAW HER as he walked down the street toward his car. He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder, then slowly looked around. There was no one else on the street. Though he didn’t think twice about his own safety in Southie, a single woman on a dark street was a much more vulnerable target.

She was bent over, leaning back against the side of a car, her hands braced on her knees. He slowly approached and stood in front of her. “Are you all right?”

She glanced up at him, her wide gaze meeting his. For an instant, his breath caught in his throat. He’d expected one of the women who’d been hanging out at the bar. But this woman—or maybe “girl” was a more appropriate description—wasn’t exactly the type who hung out at Quinn’s. She wasn’t dressed in skintight jeans. She wore a black leather jacket, a tapered black skirt that showed off a fair amount of leg, and a T-shirt that clung to her curves.

The harsh light from the streetlamps revealed a flawless complexion, untainted by heavy makeup and bright lipstick. And her hair, damp from the rain, was actually a color that appeared to be quite natural. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

She held out her hand and opened her mouth as if to speak. But then she moaned softly, bent over, and immediately threw up on his Italian loafers. “Oh, hell,” she murmured. “Oh, bloody, bloody hell. I’m so sorry I—I didn’t mean to do that.”

Startled by her response, Rafe had no choice but to reach into his pocket and pull out a handkerchief. His mother had taught him from a young age that a gentleman always carried a handkerchief and it had been advice he’d never truly understood—until now. A guy never knew when a beautiful woman might throw up on his shoes.

She slowly straightened, then took the handkerchief from his fingers. She pressed it to her lips. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she murmured.

“Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink?” Rafe suggested.

She shook her head. “No. It’s just…nerves.”

He nodded. “Right.”

“No, really,” she insisted. “I’ve just been a little upset lately. And I haven’t been eating well, or sleeping at all. And between all the antacids and the coffee, I just…all my stress seems to end up in my stomach.” She paused. “But then you’re really not interested in that, are you.”

“Can I call you a cab?” Rafe asked.

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be all right. My car is just down the street.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Rafe said.

“Do what?”

“Drive,” he said. “Either you allow me to call you a cab or you allow me to drive you wherever you’re going.”

“I’m perfectly able to—”

Rafe held out his hand to silence her. “Come on. It’s cold out here. We can wait in my car for the cab.” He reached down, grabbed her hand, and tucked it in the crook of his arm. Then he slowly walked with her down the block. When they reached his Mercedes sedan, he turned off the alarm and opened the passenger side door. She hesitated for a moment.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “If you want to, we can stand out here. Or we can go back inside the bar.”

“No!” she said. “No, I don’t want to go back to the bar.” She shivered, then rubbed her arms. Suddenly, she looked like she was going to throw up again. “Put your head down,” he suggested. He gently pressed his hand against her back until she bent over at the waist. Then he took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number for his security office at Kencor.

“This is Rafe. I want you to send a car around to Quinn’s Pub in Southie. Have the driver look for my Mercedes. I’m parked about a block away.” Rafe flipped the phone off, then slipped it back into his pocket. “It’ll just be a few minutes.” He leaned into the car and grabbed a bottle of water, then handed it to the woman. “Here,” he said. “To settle your stomach.”

“Thanks,” she said, still bent over.

“What’s your name?”

She straightened and took a tiny sip of the water. “Keely. McClain.” She swallowed hard. “Keely McClain. What’s yours?”

“Raphael Kendrick,” he replied. “Rafe.”

“Raphael. Like the artist.” She took another sip, then drew a deep breath. “Well, thank you, Raphael. But I feel much better now. I think I can drive back to my hotel on my own.”

“I’ve sent for a car.”

“But how will I get my car back?” Keely asked.

“I’ll take care of that. Where are you staying?”

“Downtown. At the Copley Plaza.”

“And what were you doing in this part of town? Southie is a long way from the Copley Plaza.”

She looked away, staring off down the street. “I was here to meet someone.” She glanced back at him. “How about you?”

“I was just having a drink at Quinn’s Pub.”

“Really? Do you drink there often?”

Rafe chuckled and shook his head. “No, not often.” He stared down at her for a long moment. Christ, she was beautiful. The more he looked at her, the more he was struck by that fact. He usually wasn’t attracted to her type, a quirky bohemian. But for some reason, he found himself fascinated by the color of her eyes, her upturned nose and her Cupid’s bow mouth, the way her short-cropped hair curled against her face.

She was small, no taller than five-five, and he was certain he could have spanned her waist with his hands. Her hair was tousled by the wind and damp, making it appear as if she’d just stepped out of the shower and arranged it with her fingers. And her features were nearly perfect, delicate and refined, from the tip of her nose to her impish smile. Though she looked young, he guessed she was about twenty-three or twenty-four, tops.

“So, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here in Boston, Keely McClain?”

“I’m here on personal business,” she said. “Family business.”

“That sounds a bit mysterious.”

“It really isn’t,” she replied. She held out the handkerchief. “I can get back on my own. Really, I’m not drunk and I’m feeling much better now.”

Rafe was loath to let her go. But he had to admit that she didn’t appear to be drunk at all, just a little bit queasy. His mind scrambled for a logical reason to make her stay, but at some point in the last few minutes, he’d lost his ability to think clearly. “All right,” he said. “But you have to promise that if you start to feel sick again, you’ll pull over.”

“I don’t think I’ll have much choice on that,” Keely said.

Rafe took her hand. “Where’s your car? I’ll walk you there.”

Keely pointed down the block. They walked slowly and when he sent her a sideways glance, he caught her looking up at him.

“What is it?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just that you’re…nice. I didn’t think there were men like you left in the world. You know, chivalrous?”

“You puked on my shoes,” Rafe said. “What was I supposed to do? Keep walking?”

Keely winced, and in the meager light he saw a slight blush color her already rosy cheeks. “Your shoes. Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new pair. Tell me, how much did they cost and where did you get them?”

Rafe shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”

“But it is,” Keely insisted. “You can’t wear them after I threw up on them.”

“I have plenty of other shoes at home that I can wear,” Rafe countered.

“But I insist,” Keely said.

God, she could be exasperating! But she was so damn beautiful when she was, her eyes bright, her color high. He was almost tempted to yank her into his arms and kiss her just to get her to shut up and accept his refusal. “All right,” Rafe said. “They’re handmade Italian. I think I paid a couple of thousand for them in Milan.”

Keely stopped short and her jaw dropped. “What? I threw up on two-thousand-dollar shoes? Oh, shit.” She clutched her stomach and bent over. “Two thousand dollars? I’m going to be sick again.” While she was bent over, she tried to wipe at the shoes with his handkerchief.

Rafe pulled her upright. “I was teasing,” he lied. “I think I got them downtown. And I never pay more than a couple of hundred for shoes.”

“And handkerchiefs?” she asked.

“I’ll toss that one in for free.”

They reached her car much sooner than he wanted to. He took the keys from her fingers, unlocked the driver’s side door, and pulled it open. She stepped around the door, then turned to him, her fingers clutching the top. “So, where should I send the money for the shoes?” she asked.

Rafe reached in his pocket for his wallet and withdrew one of his business cards. She stared at it for a long moment then smiled. “All right then, Rafe Kendrick. I guess I should thank you for your kindness.”

“No problem,” Rafe said.

“Good. Well…goodbye.” She quickly slipped into the car before he had a chance to consider kissing her. Reluctantly, he closed the driver’s side door and stepped away from the car. She started the Toyota, gave him a little wave, then pulled away from the curve.

Rafe stood in the street and watched as the taillights of her car disappeared down the street. He’d met a lot of women in his life in a lot of different places, but he’d never met a woman quite like Keely McClain. There had been no seductive flirtation, no coy glances and come-hither stares. She’d humiliated herself in front of him, yet he somehow found it charming. With her defenses down, he’d dropped his own. He’d been completely at ease with Keely McClain and he’d never really felt that way with a woman in his life.

“Then why the hell did you let her go?” Rafe asked himself. He started toward his car, and by the time he reached the Mercedes, he’d already decided. He wasn’t going to let her go. Nor was he going to trust her to contact him again. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he was certain that he’d see her again.

He pulled a U-turn in front of Quinn’s, then floored the accelerator, racing down the street after her. He’d just make sure she got back to her hotel safely and wish her good-night. And then, he’d casually ask her out to dinner. He’d never worried much about a woman accepting a date with him. If they did, he was usually pleased, and if they didn’t, he moved on to someone else.

But as Rafe drove toward the lights of downtown Boston, his thoughts weren’t on the Quinns or his need for revenge. Instead, he went over in his mind how best to ask Keely McClain out, the exact words he’d use to get her to say yes. Because, for the first time in his life, the answer would matter.